


Loyalty

by zabjade



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-06-28 19:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15713622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabjade/pseuds/zabjade
Summary: While Glory inches closer to identifying the key, her recent torture victim's need for comfort and desperation to help lead him down a dark path of seduction with a demon who could destroy him.Lovely banner made by the wonderfully talented Pfeifferpack.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story Rating:  
> Kumquat  
> Fingered citron

 

 

He gazed out over the water, hands loosely closed over the railing as his ship made her way towards the docks. Soon, they would reach land, and the cycle would start anew. It would be a joyful time, his focus on the hunt and seduction. But until then…. Until then, he must face the end of the last cycle.

He turned as unsteady steps approached him, a soft, sad smile spreading across his face as he held out his hand to his bride of the past seven years. His darling one. His lovely one. He pulled her close, the tentacles along his back sliding free from under his shirt to wrap around her in a firm embrace. She sighed as she leaned into him, a tired, fragile sound.

Once, she had been a vibrant woman, full of life. Full of love. Full of loyalty. He pushed her away a little, just enough to see the necklace she’d worn for the past seven years, that she’d willingly placed around her own neck to symbolize her acceptance of him. It was a web of gold scattered with diamond cut brown tourmalines. Once, like her eyes, they had shimmered with an inner fire. Now both gems and eyes had become dull. She had very little left to give.

“Soon, my love,” he murmured. “Soon it will all be over. Do you look forward to it, or dread what’s to come?”

No answer. Just a vacant stare. It was to be expected. He sighed softly and sat on the railing, some of his tentacles securing him in place while the others cradled her against his body. He began to tell her a story as the crew worked, getting ready to dock. A happy tale of nights spent out under the stars. She sighed again and snuggled close, one delicate hand reaching up to rest against his chest.

And then it was time, his ship had docked, and the old cycle came to an end. Sorrow and loss washed through him as he gazed at the woman he held. For seven years, she had been his love. His life. He closed his eyes for a moment as despair washed over him. Never again would he feel her touch. Never again would he hear her voice or feel the warmth of her energy. Gone. All gone. The end had come. He gently lowered her body to the deck and removed the necklace.

It changed in his hands, the yellow gold becoming white and the tourmalines changing to vibrant blue. He gasped at the power of it, his grief fading away as the new cycle began. Oh, yes, an act of magnificent loyalty had been performed in this town, and the necklace had already homed in on it. The pull of the cycle. It always knew where to take him.

He absently stepped over the body as he made his way towards his personal quarters. The crew would deal with the refuse while he prepared to find his new bride.

 

**...**

 

Pain radiated through Spike in waves, keeping him on the edge of the sleep he so desperately needed. Bruises and broken bones. The memory of a kiss pressed to lips so badly battered and swollen that he’d barely been able to feel it as anything more than added pain. God, he just wanted to sleep, to sink down into oblivion or dreams where there was someone there to hold him. Someone to pet and cuddle him and tell him he’d done good.

 _Buffy…._ That kiss and her words…. He’d finally done good in her eyes, good enough for her to touch him, no matter how brief. She still didn’t believe his love was real, but she’d appreciated what he’d done for her and Dawn. She’d given him a crumb. Something to curl around for warmth. Something….

A whisper of warm air seemed to stir around him, a quiet sigh that pulled his consciousness down into soothing darkness.

“Oh, you are a lovely one,” a male voice murmured softly.

Lovely? Hardly an apt description at the moment, now was it? Glory had been particularly keen on abusing his face during her little torture fest. Couldn’t see his own reflection, thank god, but he was sure he looked a right mess. All puffy and bruised and caked with blood. Course, they were in the dark, so his mystery admirer probably wasn’t able to actually see him.

Mystery admirer…. He should be on his guard against whoever this was, demanding to know who he was and what the bloody hell was going on. Instead, he just stood there, feeling strangely safe. He’d been on the edge of sleep before this. Maybe he’d finally slipped on over and was having a bit of an odd dream.

“My poor darling,” the man said, his words followed by gentle fingertips brushing Spike’s face. Pain flared, only to be immediately soothed away. “There’s nothing much I can do for you in the physical world, my dear one, but I can at least ease your hurts here.”

Spike took a slow, deep breath, something he’d been avoiding due to cracked ribs. He felt a vague throb of pain from a distance, but it couldn’t fully touch him here. The man with him in the dark smelt of the sea. Of cool salty air and dark depths. _Somethin’s not right here,_ he thought uneasily. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t in the physical world, but this was no dream. At least not an ordinary one.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

There was suddenly light, soft, but enough to illuminate the other man. He was tall with dark eyes and wind-tossed hair and a neatly trimmed beard. There was a rugged look to him that marked him as a man who did a lot of work out of doors. He was also stark naked, as was Spike himself.

“My name has been long lost to the mists of time,” the man said. As he spoke, four tentacles emerged from each side of his spine. A thinner one, free from the suckers on the others and gleaming in the dim light, slid out from his tailbone. That one snaked out to curl about Spike’s hips, warm and wet. “Most simply call me Captain. Or,” his lips curled up into an amused smile, “sometimes the Dutchman, flying or otherwise.”

 _The Dutchman?_ Legends, both human and demon, tangled through Spike’s mind as he jerked back. The tentacle held firm for a moment before he was slowly and deliberately let go. One thing most stories had in common was that the Dutchman came to land once every seven years to find someone to take back to his ship. If he thought he’d be taking Spike, he was in for a fight.

The Dutchman chuckled softly and took a step forward. “I only ever take willing brides, my lovely one.”

“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, then, mate. I’m not interested.”

There was a small part of him that almost wanted to go. To get away from Sunnydale and all of the confusion and pain. But, no. He’d made this bloody place his home, and he wasn’t going to just leave it. Especially not when Buffy and the little bit needed him.

The Dutchman suddenly let out a soft sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. “Ah, my sweet darling, it’s thick on you. Loyalty fueled by love.” He leaned in close, wrapping two of his thicker tentacles around Spike’s shoulders. “But I sense more than that, lovely one. You haven’t had much loyalty aimed your way, have you? How long has it been? Since someone wanted you just for you? Since someone has wanted to touch you just because of who you are?”

Spike swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. How long _had_ it been? Buffy had kissed him, but it had just been a crumb of affection thrown his way. A thank you and naught much more than that. The Bot, but she’d been programmed to want him. Harmony would have been just as happy with any strong, good-looking male vampire. Only Drusilla had ever just wanted him for who he was, not what he was or what she could get from him. And she’d gone and bloody well thrown him away.

“I can give you that.” The thin, tail-like tentacle curled back around his hips, the tip dipping down to stroke his ass. “You’ve been hurt so, my darling. Wouldn’t it be nice to be given pleasure instead? From someone who loves you.”

“You don’t even know me.” He’d meant the words to come out harsh and full of scorn, but instead, they were a soft whisper.

Something had shifted. The pain from his injuries still couldn’t touch him, but he was more aware of the fact that it was waiting for him back in the physical world. And pain of another sort was suddenly all too present. Loneliness and despair crashed over him, emotions he was far too familiar with. He tried and he tried, but it was never enough. _He_ was never enough. No one ever wanted to love him. Not enough to keep him.

“I know enough. I know that you are a man of intense passions. A man who is loyal to those he loves. A man who loves deeply and with all his heart.”

It was more than Buffy seemed to know of him. “What do you want?”

“For tonight, just let me touch you. Let me make love to you. No strings attached, beyond allowing me two weeks to court you. If, by the end of that time, you still refuse to be my bride, I’ll leave you be.”

The tentacle slid lower and inward, resting lightly against Spike’s arse, waiting. One little push was all it would take, and it would be inside of him. Warm and wet. A shiver tingled down his spine, and he couldn’t deny a bit of curiosity. It would hardly be the first time he’d taken it up the back way, but that had always been either Angelus or a toy. Always room temperature and never deliciously warm. His thoughts drifted to Buffy. He’d never experienced a warm, living woman, either.

 _And probably never will._ He shuddered and pushed her out of his thoughts as he took a deep breath. He could smell the Dutchman’s arousal. Hell, he could feel it as the man pulled him close. What would it hurt to give in? He wasn’t agreeing to the whole bride thing, and it wasn’t like he was cheating or anything. Buffy didn’t want him, and he’d been with the Bot. Would probably be in her arms right now if they hadn’t taken her away from him. The stark reality of it all was that he was curled up in his crypt right now on a hard sarcophagus, alone and in pain after being tortured. He could use a little comfort.

As if sensing his acceptance, the Dutchman kissed him, his hands and the thicker tentacles roaming over Spike’s body, igniting his own desire. Oh, god, it felt amazing. Not just being touched – he’d had the Bot for that, hadn’t he? – but being _wanted_.

“My lovely one,” the Dutchman murmured between heated kisses. “My darling one.”

His tongue plunged into Spike’s mouth, mapping out his newly conquered territory, and the thin tentacle…. Oh. Oh, god. It slid inside of him, whatever it was coated in sending sparks of pleasure dancing through the soft tissue. He wanted…. He needed…. He moaned softly as the tentacle pulled out of him, but then it was back, thrusting deep inside as it pulsed, thickening for a moment.

There was a dizzying swirl of light and colors, and Spike suddenly found himself lying on a bed, his hands pinned above his head by a pair of tentacles as the Dutchman explored his body with hands and mouth. The other man nipped and licked at his throat, traveling slowly down to bathe each nipple with his tongue. Warm hands, rough with calluses, stroked his skin. And through it all, the tentacle pulsed inside of him, thickening and stretching and coating him with its fluids, preparing him for….

The tentacle pulled out and moved, wrapped warm and slick about his prick. And then the Dutchman was there, hips between Spike’s thighs as if he’d always been meant to be there. There was no pain. He was open and wet and ready as the Dutchman thrust inside.

Spike cried out, body arching and clenching tight around the other man. Oh god, he’d needed this. He’d got some of it with the Bot, but she’d been just a robot. An automaton programmed to love and want him. He’d no intention of ever becoming the Dutchman’s bride, but this? This he’d take. The Dutchman rode him hard and fast, whispering endearments as he angled himself just right to hit Spike’s prostate with each powerful thrust.

Spike gasped for air he didn’t need, writhing under the solid weight holding him down. The tentacle stroked and caressed him, adding to the whirlpool of pleasure threatening to suck him under. And then it was all too much. He came with an incoherent scream, his thoughts whispering Buffy’s name, wishing she’d been the one he’d shared it with.

 

**...**

 

For one glorious moment, Spike was caught up in a burst of pleasure so intense that it blocked out all other sensation. Then it began to fade, and the pain from his injuries washed back in. _Bloody hell,_ he thought with a groan as he slowly sat up. What the hell had just happened? _You dreamed of getting your arse pounded by an octopus man,_ his mind helpfully pointed out, as if he actually needed that spelled out. He wanted to pass it off as the result of torture and too many late-night monster movies, like that time with the wolfman, but something about it seemed all too real.

He shivered and carefully wrapped his arms around himself. He could almost feel the tentacle back inside of him, wriggling and stroking and…. He gasped and nearly fell off the sarcophagus as pleasure exploded through him again. The air was thick with a sudden presence and smelt strongly of the sea.

 _“Two weeks,”_ a voice whispered through his thoughts. _“Two weeks to court you and make you mine, my lovely one.”_

Then the presence was gone, leaving Spike to wonder just what sort of mess he’d got himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

Spike could smell the ocean. Not entirely out of the question, what with Sunnydale being right along the sodding thing, but was a bit peculiar to find that particular scent in the Bronze. He really shouldn’t have been there, either, honestly. He’d healed up enough that the girl manning the bar was serving him free pity drinks instead of calling an ambulance, but he should have been in the crypt, gulping down as much pig blood as he could stomach and nursing his injuries. The thought of it, though, being alone and cooped up, didn’t exactly appeal.

So here he stood, leaning on the balcony and gazing down at the people below. Searching for… what, exactly? Buffy or one of her little friends? The slayer had too much on her plate for partying, what with her mum dead and a deranged hellgod after the little sis. He could go hunting for them, he supposed, make some half-arsed excuse to show up at the Magic Box, like the pathetic, attention-starved fool he was. Maybe get some burba weed to make the sodding pig blood more palatable.

The vague plan faded away as his sea-smelling suitor finally made his way over. He was clothed this time, a pair of tight jeans, a gray shirt, and a black leather jacket that barely hung down past his hips.

“Was hoping you’d turn out to be a particularly vivid fever dream,” Spike said as the Dutchman leaned on the railing beside him, also gazing down into the milling crowd.

Hadn’t been much hope of that, though, had there? Spike knew his own subconscious. Dreams of being with the slayer and declaring his love for her? Meant he’d bloody well gone and fallen for the chit and his subconscious was letting him in on it. Dreams of a tumble with some random demon he’d never seen before with a detailed back story and retractable tentacles? He’d a vivid imagination, but that was a bit much to just pull out of the ether, even for him. Well, at least while more-or-less sober.

The Dutchman chuckled and reached out to drape his arm across Spike’s back. “No, my darling one, I’m very much real, and my two weeks start today. I thought I’d give you some time to heal up between now and our first meeting.”

Spike considered shoving him away and telling him to sod off, but decided against it. His reputation in Sunnydale had taken a massive hit with all his demon killing, but he was at least still known for dealing honestly. He’d agreed to let the tentacled buggerer court him for a fortnight, and there was no harm in letting him do it. Besides, there tended to be right nasty consequences to going back on an agreement with supernatural sorts.

“Come now,” the Dutchman said, pulling Spike away from the railing and towards one of the small sofas that had been stored on the balcony after the recent remodel. “You’re still hurt, my love, and there are things we need to discuss.”

He pulled a flask from inside his jacket and held it out to Spike as they sat down together. Even with the lid tightly screwed on, he could smell the blood inside. Human. His mouth watered at the scent. He hadn’t had human since the night Drusilla had come swanning back for him and had killed a couple up here on this very balcony. What would it have been like if he’d gone with her? He wouldn’t have been tortured and more or less discarded after the fact, that was for sure. Well, tortured perhaps, his dark princess had always had a thing for hurting him, but she’d have cuddled and pampered him right proper afterword.

If he had gone, though, what would have happened with Buffy and the little bit? Would Glory have gotten her mitts on Dawn? Buffy would be utterly shattered if something happened to the girl.

Buffy…. It all came back to Buffy, even the flask of blood he was being offered. She wouldn’t want him to take it if someone had died for it. _How would she even know? You’ll heal better with human in you. Can look out for her and the nibblet better that way._ He licked his lips, but didn’t take the flask. She’d find out somehow. That’s how things always seemed to work out for him.

Beside him, the Dutchman smiled with amused affection. “There’s no death attached, so no reason for your lady to complain. I purchased it at a bar run by a man who assured me his business was slayer-tolerated if not quite approved.”

Willy’s most likely, and Willy paid college kids for the blood he sold. Cost an arm and a leg, it did, but drinking it wouldn’t get Buffy after you. Spike grabbed the flask and took a deep drink. He was barely aware of his body leaning into the Dutchman as the human blood flooded his mouth, coating his tongue with ecstasy as it filled him with energy and vitality. Not as good as straight from the tap – nothing ever was or could be – but this…. Human blood, somehow just the right temperature. And the people he constantly went out of his way to help couldn’t even be bothered to make sure he had enough of the sodding pig.

The flask didn’t hold much, just a few mouthfuls, but it was enough to make a small difference, dropping his pain a level or so. He was suddenly very aware of the Dutchman. Warm and solid and smelling of the sea. Would it feel the same as he’d dreamed? Having a go in the flesh? Spike forced the thought away. Human blood always got his libido to sit up and beg, but he’d long ago learned to ignore it if he’d a mind to. Right now, as the man had said, they had things to discuss.

“How’d you know about me and the slayer?” He’d called her Spike’s lady. That was more than just knowing he sometimes hung about and helped her lot out.

“You are the one chosen for this cycle,” the Dutchman said, as if it should mean something. “There are always those who fit my needs, and the cycle chooses as it will, letting me know what I need to about my bride-to-be.” He smiled. “It also helps that I asked around about you, my sweet one. Your feelings for the slayer are something of an open secret. My poor darling. So very loyal to one who treats you with such scorn.”

Spike shifted uncomfortably. Okay, so Slayer was hardly all sweetness and roses towards him, but if he was honest with himself, he couldn’t really blame her. Yeah, he’d been trying lately – had even refrained from lapping at the troll victims like a cat at a cream buffet, hadn’t he? – but he was still a vampire. Still someone – some _thing_ to her way of thinking – that she was meant to kill. Vampire Slayer, The. And then there had been that kiss…. An acknowledgment of what he’d done for her when he hadn’t expected anything. Not even the rescue that had come before.

 _Though she hadn’t much choice there, had she?_ he thought cynically. None of them had expected him to keep silent about Dawn. Because none of that lot really knew sod-all about him when it came down to it.

“There are things you need to know,” the Dutchman said, breaking into Spike’s thoughts. He reached into his jacket again and pulled out a silver necklace. Strands of silver formed a net filled of faceted blue stones. “This is the sign of the pact. It changes at the beginning of each cycle to match my bride-to-be. My bride must willingly put this on, in full knowledge of what it means.”

“And just what _does_ it mean?” Spike paused for a moment, head tilted. “Beyond, I’m assuming, quite a lot of kinky sex.”

The Dutchman laughed softly and put the necklace back into an inner pocket. “Like a vampire, I take my sustenance from living beings. But instead of blood, I feed on loyalty, with that backed by love being the most exquisite. It matters not if that loyalty is aimed towards me, merely that it exists. I will feed from my bride for seven years, and then seek another as the cycle begins anew.”

“And what happens to the old bride?”

The Dutchman shrugged at that. “Humans are left as empty husks. Alive, but with nothing more within them. With demons, it varies, though none are left whole. You are the first vampire I’ve ever courted, so I cannot say how it will go for you.”

“Either way, seems a raw deal for your bride. If you’ve got to disclose all this, how do you ever….” Spike trailed off as a nasty thought occurred to him. Bugger this, he wasn’t going to fall into such an obvious trap. He got to his feet and backed away, eyes narrowed as he glared at the Dutchman. “You use it against ‘em,” he accused. “If you can't win someone over, you threaten those they’re loyal to.”

The Dutchman just smiled. Gentle and understanding. “Coercion is not willingness. Some come to genuinely love me and offer themselves out of that. For others, they seek a favor and trade their lives for it. Either way, I’m drawn to those who will willingly become my brides.”

A favor…. Such as helping to stop Glory? No. It wouldn’t come to that. Buffy was a resourceful girl, and her watcher had both brains and powerful contacts across the pond. And they had him, Spike. He was no slouch in the brains department either, when it suited him, and he could fight. They wouldn’t need the Dutchman to keep Dawn safe. Would they?

“Just how often have you picked wrong and not got your bride?”

The Dutchman smiled again. Still gentle and understanding. “Never.”

 

**...**

 

“Hello?” Buffy called out as she walked into the crypt. “Spike?”

It was really quiet. Shouldn’t he be in his chair, watching TV or something? No sign of him, and the sarcophagus was empty, too. Or, well, had nothing on top of it, anyway. Maybe he’d climbed inside for a nap or something. She shifted uneasily, clutching the brown paper grocery bag closer to her chest. There were a few jars of pig blood inside, which was seriously of the uber gross, but well….

She walked farther into the crypt, looking for any piles of dust that seemed to be more than just actual dust. Vampires couldn’t die from torture, could they? She was pretty sure they couldn’t. Spike had once said that they couldn’t actually starve to death, so it didn’t seem like non-woody or holy object or sunlight related injuries should be able to kill them either. _Not like I even care,_ she told herself. Spike becoming dustpan kibble would so uncomplicate her life right now.  She didn’t want to think about the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought.

 _I need him,_ the coldly practical side of her pointed out. Other than her, he was the only one strong enough to even think about protecting Dawn. Glory had been able to hurt him pretty badly, but he could buy time against her little hobgoblins while Dawn ran away to somewhere safer. But in order to do that, he needed to heal, and to heal, he needed blood. Hence the piggy goodness she had for him. And, well….

As much as she didn’t want to dwell on it too much, he really had come through for them. Battered, bloody, and broken, but he hadn’t spilled the beans about Dawn. _All because he thinks he loves me._ It couldn’t be love, not really, but Buffy couldn’t deny that he felt _something_ for her. He’d been loyal, and she’d kissed him for it. She hadn’t planned to, but looking at him, so horribly beat up, she’d been moved to do something. To offer some small kindness in recognition of what he’d endured.

And now she was doing something else, but he wasn’t here. Maybe he was off getting his own blood? Should she just leave the jars on his chair? Or stick them in the mini fridge? Before she could decide, the crypt door opened, and Spike came limping in.

“Spike! Hi,” she said. “I was looking for you. But you weren’t here. Obviously. Because you were out wherever you’ve been.” Damn it, she was babbling. She shut her mouth and looked him over. She couldn’t see much with all of his clothes, but his face looked better. It wasn’t anywhere near as swollen, though he was still badly bruised. There was also the limp, and he walked like things hurt inside. “I, uh, brought you some blood.”

He just stared at her for a moment, head tilted to the side as he studied her like some kind of newly discovered bug. Then he blinked. “Thanks, pet. ‘Preciate it.”

He walked past her to his easy chair, dropping into it heavily with a grunt of pain. Then he closed his eyes and just sat there, like he was barely even aware of her presence.

“So… where do you want me to put it? The blood.” She didn’t remember ever feeling quite this awkward around him, not even after he’d done the whole chaining her up and offering to murder his ex thing. Though finding out that he was obsessed with her had come pretty close.

Obsession…. Did obsession really lead to enduring physical torture so someone else wouldn’t be in emotional pain? It seemed too selfless for what obsession implied. Like she’d told him, there had been something real in what he’d done.

Spike opened his eyes and gestured her over. “Bring it here, love. Might as well go ahead and pour some down the hatch. Don’t suppose you brought anything to add to it? Burba weed? A handful of Weetabix? Maybe a pinch of cinnamon or somesuch?”

“Uh, no, sorry,” she said as she handed him one of the jars. Angel had never been all that keen on eating in front of her or anything, but she was pretty sure he’d never doctored up his blood the way Spike liked to. It made him seem weirdly more human, like someone putting jelly and sugar in their oatmeal to change it from boring health food to sweet treat.

Spike grimaced in disgust but took the jar and downed it. Buffy stared, watching the motion of his throat as he swallowed the blood. Was pig blood really that gross? Well, the thought of it was pretty nasty to her, but she wasn’t a vampire. Maybe she should have gone by Willy’s and gotten him some human?

There was a stab of guilt, but she pushed it aside. She was on her own now, taking care of a teenage girl when she was barely past being one herself. She couldn’t afford an extra expense like that. Besides, it was kind of his own fault he’d been tortured, anyway. He wouldn’t have been taken by Glory’s minions if he hadn’t been all disgusting and slobbery with the robot he’d had made of her.

He finished about half the jar, then set it down on the floor while he studied her again. He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “I want in,” he said quietly. “Whatever you end up doing to keep the pidge safe, you can count on me, you got that?”

The look in his eyes was intense, almost mesmerizing. She’d intended to use him to protect Dawn, but hadn’t been prepared for him to just offer like this. Maybe she should have been. He’d done a lot to help them. Okay, yeah, a lot of that had probably been trying to win her over, but he wasn’t stupid. He had to know there was no point to it. That she’d never….

She shifted uncomfortably and set the bag with the rest of the jars on the floor. “Yeah, I got it. I’m not gonna lie, we could really use your help. Glory is crazy strong, and I….” She stopped and took a deep breath. “I better go. You’re… um, you’re looking better, but you need to rest.”

He nodded and scooped up the open jar again. He didn’t drink from it, though, just sat there and closed his eyes. He looked exhausted and like something was really bothering him. Was it the Glory situation, or was there something else going on with him? Should she ask if he was okay? She hesitated, but then turned and slipped out of the crypt, leaving Spike to his solitude.

Confused feelings skittered through her mind, but she ignored them. Right now, she had just one thing to focus on: keep Dawn safe. Everything else could wait.


	3. Chapter 3

The place was a bit of a dump. Falling apart and just scuzzy enough to make it likely someone in the health department was being paid off. _Music’s not bad, though,_ Spike thought as he followed the Dutchman to one of the booths, Patti Smith giving way to Metallica. He slid into the seat, his body twinging only a little in protest. It had been a few days since he’d first met the Dutchman at the Bronze, and he’d healed up enough that only bruises and a limp remained.

Bloody hellbitch had really done a number on him, and he knew he’d be in worse shape if not for the Dutchman and the flasks of human blood he’d brought him each night while they played pool and chatted. Still and all, Spike didn’t regret the choice he’d made. She could be a right bitch herself at times, but Buffy was worth the pain he’d endured. And her little contributions had helped, too. Sure, the pig didn’t fuel healing as well as human, but it did help, and she’d been swinging by his crypt quite a lot to check on him in the past few days.

A waitress in a tiny skirt sauntered over and put two laminated sheets of paper on the table before wandering off without bothering to ask for drink orders. “Charming place,” he said dryly with a raised brow at the Dutchman. Not that he much cared, mind, but he would have expected something a little posher for a first real date, what with the man trying to seduce him into what seemed like basically a death sentence. Though at least this place had underground access and no windows. The sun held sway for a quite a while this close to summer, and it was still up.

The Dutchman chuckled and tapped at the menu. “I’ve been told that what it lacks in service and atmosphere, it makes up for in the food. Especially the appetizers.”

Spike glanced down at the menu. There were burgers and some sort of fish and chips platter, but the sheet was dominated by a list of appetizers, including a flowering onion. He’d been bitching again lately about the Bronze getting rid of theirs, and apparently the Dutchman had decided to take him someplace that had them. Huh, well, that was a bit of alright, wasn’t it? Better than some fancy place with bland food that there wasn’t much point to, considering anything other than blood did sod all for him other than as a way to get texture and flavor.

When the waitress came back, they put in an order for a pitcher of beer, the flowering onion, mozzarella sticks, and some hot wings. “So,” the Dutchman said once she was gone again. “Tell me about yourself. There are things I’ve discovered talking to others, and the tidbits you’ve shared at the Bronze. What would you like me to know about you?”

Spike stared down at the table. How long had it been since he’d spilled his history to the Slayer? Six months, or thereabouts. Seemed like it should have been longer. She’d still been with good ol’ Captain Cardboard, and her mum had still been alive. Not even diagnosed with the brain tumor yet, though she was preparing to go to hospital that very night. And he’d been the one Buffy had confided in about it.

 _Just because you happened to be there at the time,_ his more cynical side pointed out. _With a shotgun to blow her bloody brains out for what she said to you._ She’d shoved him to the ground and echoed Cecily’s words as she threw money at him, like he was naught but a cheap whore.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Don’t really want to talk about me, just yet.” He glanced up at the Dutchman. “What about you? How exactly did you get into this whole sailing about the world and finding a new bride every seven years gig? Doesn’t seem the sort of thing you’d answer an ad for.”

The Dutchman stayed quiet for a moment, involved in his own study of the table’s pitted surface. The waitress came back at that point with their pitcher of beer and a couple of glass mugs. The Dutchman poured them both a drink before finally starting to speak.

“If you listen to the legends about me, most say it was a punishment from God for some sort of nautical hubris. In reality, though, I was cursed for the usual sort of reason.”

Spike’s mind immediately went to Angel and his curse, but he doubted there was any common ground there. Or not much anyway. “Slept with the wrong woman, did you? Was it her that cursed you, or one of her loved ones?”

“Both, actually,” the Dutchman answered with a wry smile. “Though her spell was meant to help. I was in port making a regular delivery to a wizard.” He paused to take a long drink. “Ah, the lady of the tower. Comely young wench, starved for affection and possessed of a sharp mind that I couldn’t help but fall for. I really shouldn’t have taken her up on her offer, but I’ve always been a fool when it comes to love. Her husband came home and caught us at it, of course. He accused me of stealing away his woman and taking her loyalty. So, he cursed me to wander the seas forever as an immortal monster, never again to touch land or experience loyalty from any save my crew, and that would be no more than that of any crew for its captain.”

He took another drink, then reached into his jacket for the necklace. He gazed at it for a long moment before speaking again. “She was a sorceress, though, the wizard’s wife, and she gave me this. It was white gold then, like it is now, but the tourmalines were clear. She told me that in seven years, it would change and lead me to one that I could love. Someone full of loyalty. I’d be able to contact the person in a dream and touch land for a fortnight to court them. Her husband found out, somehow, and he twisted what she’d done. So, now I hunt every seven years, finding the person selected for the coming cycle to feed off of them instead of just enjoying their companionship.”

“Well,” Spike said after a moment of silence. “That’s a bit of a bum toss, isn’t it?”

Quite the understatement there, and he knew it. It had been torture watching Dru decline after that bloody mob in Prague had got a hold of her. How much worse would it have been if it had been because he was feeding off of her? His thoughts shifted to Buffy, imagining her slowly wasting away as he….

The Dutchman chuckled mirthlessly and lifted his mug in mock salute. “Aye, it is at that, my love. It is at that.”

Spike lifted his own mug and tapped it against the Dutchman’s. “Here’s to fools who love where they shouldn’t.”

He drank down his beer, wondering just where his foolish love for the Slayer was going to end up taking him.

 

**...**

 

“Well, well, getting to be a bit of a habit with you, isn’t it, Slayer?” Spike said as he sauntered into his crypt. Buffy was there, with the little bit in tow, just as he’d known she’d be. He’d caught her scent as he’d approached, taking the above ground route after his date now that the sun had set. “I come home, and here you are, sniffing all about.” He slowly smirked before curling his tongue behind his teeth. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were just keen on spending time with me.”

Her nose wrinkled up adorably as she scowled at him, but she didn’t take the bait. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Out,” he snapped, eyes narrowing. He loved her, but that didn’t mean he was at her constant beck and call. “I _do_ have a life, you know.”

“No, you don’t. You’re _dead_.”

He rolled his eyes at that and dropped down into his easy chair. “You really want to be arguing semantics right now?” he asked quietly, glancing at Dawn. The girl was standing behind her big sis, huddled in on herself and looking scared.

Buffy deflated like a popped balloon. “Glory went after Tara. She thought she was the key, and…. Tara’s hurt and, and… Glory made her crazy.”

Bloody hell. Some of the Slayer’s lot he only barely tolerated, but he liked Tara. Quiet, mousy little bird, the kind you knew had a rich inner life she’d be too shy to share with most. She reminded him a bit of who he’d been as a human, only quite a bit less pathetic. More importantly, she was one of _his_ humans. He wasn’t entirely sure when it had happened, but he thought of all of them, even that bloody pillock Xander, as his. And that hellbitch was messing about with them.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he opened them, looking squarely at Buffy. “Can’t imagine Red is taking this at all well. What do you need from me?”

“Willow needs me right now, but it’s not safe for Dawn to be there with my attention divided.” Spike expected the little bit to pipe up at that, to insist she was safe enough and didn’t need looking after. Instead, she kept quiet, highlighting how hard she’d been hit by the attack on Tara. “I need you to guard her while I’m at the hospital with Will.”

Spike hauled himself up to his feet and rummaged about until he found a flashlight. “Come on, pidge,” he said, taking Dawn by the arm and leading her towards the hidden entrance to the cavern below the crypt. “You’ll be safe down there. I’ll join you once I’ve had a bit of a chat with big sis, yeah?”

“Buffy?” The girl finally spoke, sounding young and scared. Fair enough, that. She _was_ young and scared.

“It… it’s okay, Dawnie.” Buffy managed a wobbly smile for her. “The doctors are going to do everything they can for Tara, and I’ll do what I can for Willow. You go on down where it’s safe, okay?”

The little bit nodded jerkily and went down into the cavern with the flashlight. Spike gave her a few minutes to get settled, then turned to Buffy.

“How are you holding up?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine. I’m just….” For a moment, the mask of control held, then it began to slip, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the world. “I’m not fine,” she whispered. Then she glared defiantly at him and took a step forward, gesturing wildly. “My mother is _dead_. She’s dead, and I’m still here.”

He saw it then, lurking in her eyes. Not a full-blown death wish, not yet, but she looked… tired. Worn down by life and ready for a rest.

She wrapped her arms around herself and kept talking. “I don’t know how to be her and me at the same time.” She laughed darkly. “I don’t even know how to be _me_ all at the same time. There’s the slayer and the girl and the college student, but that’s gone because I had to drop my classes. And then there’s Dawn…. She hasn’t been going to school, and if I can’t make her go, they’ll take her away from me. And then there’s all this with Glory and–”

Spike stopped the spill of words by taking her by the shoulders and giving her a bit of a shake. The thought of kissing her came to mind, swallowing down her words and her worries with his mouth on hers. She’d probably just smack him for it, though, and close down, whatever trust he’d built between them gone in an instant.

“You’re not alone in this,” he told her. “Any of it. You don’t have to carry the weight of it all on your own. You’ve your mates and your watcher. And… for what it’s worth, you have me.” He more than half expected her to say it wasn’t worth much at all, but as he gazed into her eyes, some of the weariness receded, replaced by something suspiciously like gratitude. “Anything you need, love. All you have to do is ask.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, he let go of her shoulders and took a step back. The vulnerable and overwhelmed young woman had been packed away, leaving the Slayer ready to take charge.

“I need to get to the hospital,” she said quietly as she turned towards the door. “Keep Dawn safe for me. And…. Thank you.”

That last was a whisper as she slipped out into the night, and Spike was fairly certain it wasn’t just about taking care of Dawn.

 

**...**

 

Later that night, Spike lay stretched out on a sarcophagus, arms folded under his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Willow had gone after Glory, and for all her power, it hadn’t been enough. Though at least she and Buffy had got away relatively unscathed from the encounter. Bloody stupid thing for Willow to do. He’d have done the same, of course – was him pointing that out that had sent Buffy off in the nick of time, after all – but that didn’t make it any less stupid. Just as Buffy had said, going after Glory like that had damn near been suicide. 

 _“I’d do it,”_ he’d told her, looking down at the ground, not wanting her to the see the look he knew was in his eyes. _“Right person. Person I loved.”_ He’d risked a glance then, to see if she had been listening. _“I’d do it.”_

There was a lot he’d do for someone he loved. Even…. He wished Buffy hadn’t come back for Dawn after saving Willow. Watching over the little bit and doing his best to make her feel better had occupied his mind, kept him from thinking too much. Now, though, he was alone with his thoughts. _Could_ they stop Glory without help? He’d witnessed the Slayer and her lot pull off the impossible before, usually when their backs were right up against the wall and there seemed no way to win. He believed in her. Believed in them. They could fight the bloody bitch and win, hellgod or no.

So far, they’d had the most problems with her when going against her alone. They’d do better about that, now, all sticking close together. _Except for me,_ he thought, suddenly feeling very alone. And vulnerable. Like as not, Glory had no more use for him, but her scabby little minions _had_ found him here before. They didn’t know about the underground, though. He could curl up down there for the day on one of the hard outcroppings of rock. Wouldn’t be that much different from his current resting place, really.

“Bugger that,” he muttered to himself in sudden disgust. He rolled off of the sarcophagus and onto his feet, grabbing his coat as he headed for the door.

He knew the room number of the hotel where the Dutchman was staying while his ship was being supplied and getting a bit of a remodel. He was bloody well going to sleep in a sodding bed for the day with someone who gave a toss keeping watch. And beyond that…. Well, no harm in finding out if reality matched the dream, was there?


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s not so much the lack of fresh human blood.” Spike paused to take a long drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before slowly blowing it out. His lungs didn’t work the same way as a human’s, of course, but they were still able to carry the nicotine into his bloodstream, which reacted the same way even though his circulation was a steady sweep instead of a pulse. Once the smoke was clear from his lungs, he continued answering the Dutchman’s question about his peculiar feeding habits. “Now, don’t get me wrong, that part’s bloody awful all on its own, but there are ways around it if you’re willing to completely give up your dignity.”

He’d considered it, a time or two, when the craving for human blood fresh from the tap became almost overwhelming. Getting it from Willy’s wasn’t bad, whatever he preserved it with – probably magic – not overloading it with a sweet taste like the hospital blood, but it wasn’t the same as fresh from a human body. He could get that easily enough from a suck house. He was good-looking and long past being a fledge; he’d have his pick of place and clients. Just have them cut themselves, and he could lap up the blood like a cat with cream, getting what he needed while giving the addicts a hit of the chemical mix in his saliva. Luckily, he’d never got quite that desperate, though he might have, if it had somehow taken care of the biggest problem with the chip.

“It’s the bite I really miss. Nothin’ quite like sinking your fangs into human flesh and letting the blood out to play. If I try it with a living one, though, this hunk of plastic in my noggin sends a zap through the ol’ gray matter.”

“The scuttlebutt about town said something had been done to you by government agents,” the Dutchman said, his tail-like tentacle absently stroking along Spike’s inner thigh while one hand stroked his hip. “But there wasn’t much explanation of exactly what. Just that it kept you from feeding as vampires normally do. Rather barbaric, really, muzzling a predator and keeping it from its normal food source while also leaving it vulnerable to that food source.”

The two of them were stretched out on the Dutchman’s bed, naked and comfortable. The hotel he’d chosen was one set up for demons, and he’d asked for a room with no windows. Fairly sure of himself, the Dutchman was, and Spike had to admit it was with reason. Reality had been even better than the dream. He hurt in all the right ways and places, the aches you only got from being shagged senseless by someone who knew what they were about. One thing that could definitely be said, the man bloody well knew how to use all his various appendages.

The one tentacle not currently retracted finally finished its path along Spike’s thigh, delving just under his balls to give a couple of light caresses. Then it slithered downward, and the Dutchman gave him a questioning look. In answer, Spike shifted, giving easier access. It slowly wiggled its way inside, warm and slick and still at its thinnest width. The tip twitched, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him.

“I was human once,” the Dutchman said. “Obviously not anymore,” the tentacle gave a pulse, thickening, “but at one time, I was human. I have no idea if my blood is still anywhere near the same, but you could try it if you’d like.”

Thoughts more than a bit hazy with what the tentacle was doing – pulsing and twisting, stroking sensitive tissue as it started to stretch him in preparation – it took Spike a moment to fully understand what the Dutchman was offering. He shuddered, moaning softly, and took one last pull from his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray on the nightstand next to him. Then he rolled, straddling the other man’s hips. The tentacle gave a final pulse before sliding out of him.

There was a sort of pinching sensation and pressure as Spike lowered himself onto the Dutchman’s thick erection. Maybe, if there was time before the Dutchman had to go back to sea ( _assuming you aren’t right there on the bloody ship with him,_ the thought whispered through his mind before being shoved aside), he’d have a go at the other man’s arse. He could get that with a woman, though, which was the gender he tended to lean heavily towards. For now, seemed a good idea to take advantage of what he could only get from the man beneath him. The tentacles and a real cock rather than a strap-on.

The Dutchman reached up to rest his hands on his hips, but didn’t try to take control. He lay still and let Spike ride him, moving up and down, clenching his muscles around the thick, heavy fullness whenever it was buried all the way inside. They’d done hard and fast in the dream and when Spike had first arrived at the hotel. This time, though, he wanted to take it slow, to let the pleasure circle and build.

His eyes drifted closed, head tilting back as unneeded breaths shuddered through him. Then, when the time was right, he leaned forward, face shifting so he could sink his fangs into the Dutchman’s throat.

Warm skin against his lips. Just the right amount of resistance before his fangs broke through. And then, with a muffled cry, he tumbled over the edge, plunged into a pool of bliss that tasted of human blood tinged with the sea.

 

**...**

 

It was late afternoon when Spike returned to his crypt via the underground route. He could have stayed with the Dutchman until sunset, but with the whole Glory situation, he didn’t want to spend too long out of reach if Buffy needed him.

 _Buffy…._ Thoughts of her and the Dutchman flitted through his mind as he limped towards his chair. The fresh blood – somewhere between human and pig in effectiveness, it seemed – had helped, as had the soft bed, but his leg and ribs still hurt, and he was fairly certain his face was still bruised. He dropped down into the chair with a groan and leaned back, closing his eyes.

Never, in all the centuries since the Dutchman had been cursed, had a bride-to-be failed to become his bride. Spike intended to do his damnedest to buck that particular trend, but the necklace supposedly picked someone who wouldn’t. _And someone the Dutchman could love._ He mulled that thought over. Just because the Dutchman could love someone didn’t mean that specific someone could love him. He knew that all too well when it came to himself and the Slayer.

He loved her. Despite the fact that she tended to treat him as if he were dog droppings she’d scraped off one of her oh-so-stylish shoes. Despite the fact that she was the bloody V _ampire_ Slayer, and he was a vampire. The Dutchman treated him well, but even though Spike had turned to him for comfort when he’d needed it, there was no spark there. He liked the man well enough – more than Harmony, though that wasn’t really saying much – and he was bloody fantastic in bed, but that wasn’t the same as loving someone. He wasn’t going to sacrifice himself for the sake of the Dutchman.

For Buffy, though…. Spike opened his eyes and leaned forward to stare at the floor between his feet. He’d do it for her. Was that why the necklace had chosen him? He’d spent over a hundred years with a seer. He knew there was no such thing as a future writ solidly in stone. He also knew that some were so bloody likely that they might as well be.

If he knew that giving himself up to the Dutchman would keep Buffy and Dawn safe, he wouldn’t hesitate. Right now, though, he didn’t know that. What if it turned out there was some simple solution to stopping Glory, but they absolutely needed Spike there for some future apocalypse? There always seemed to be another one right around the corner with the Slayer and her lot. He was stronger than any of them but for Buffy herself, and he was faster and more experienced than she was. She’d lived a long time for a slayer. What if taking away one of her allies turned out to be what ultimately caused her death?

There was also the desire to actually be around Buffy, basking in her presence even if she despised his. It was a bit selfish, that, but vampire and all. He was a bloody paragon of selflessness and altruism compared to most of his kind. Probably because most of them that didn’t turn sucker tended to throw themselves gleefully and fully into what it meant to be evil.

He’d always just been happy to throw himself into what it meant to be Spike, damn the shackles of either end of the whole morality spectrum. If he wanted to rescue a puppy, he’d bloody well rescue a puppy. And then maybe rip off someone’s head and play a spot of football with the sodding thing. Well, maybe not so much that last with the bloody chip in his head, but the fact remained; he refused by be constrained by how good or evil something was.

The door suddenly banged open, startling Spike out of his thoughts as Buffy strode inside, a wild look in her eyes.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the–”

“She knows.”

Bloody hell. No need to ask what that meant. There was only one thing it could. Glory had somehow found out about Dawn. He didn’t think the hellgod actually had her yet, though.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, standing up and glancing around his crypt. He had a decent cache of weapons, but nothing that seemed like it would be particularly useful at the moment.

“We need to head out of town. You, me, Dawn, everyone else.” She wrapped her arms around herself and started pacing. “We need some kind of transportation. Something big enough for all of us.”

The DeSoto could handle it, if they put Dawn in the middle seat up front, shoved Harris in the trunk, and had one of the witches sit on the other’s lap. It wouldn’t exactly be a comfortable ride, though. He could nick an RV from the dealership on the outskirts of town, though pulling that off in broad daylight would be a bit of a trick. He could do it, but….

 _Gloar’max,_ he thought suddenly, nodding to himself. The demon had an RV for family camping trips, and he owed Spike big from their last poker game.

“Right. Got it covered,” he said. “Shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes to get what we need.”

Buffy stopped her pacing and gave him an odd look, as if she’d expected him to argue. No doubt her friends had, outraged at the thought of running away. Sometimes that was the only choice you had if you wanted to survive. As much as he tended to dive headfirst into trouble, Spike had always been a survivor.

“Scarpering seems the best bet, to me. If Glory could track the key, she’d have found Dawn out long before now,” he pointed out. “We put enough distance between us and her, she’s not going to be able to find the little bit.”

Buffy nodded, nibbling on her thumbnail, brow furrowed in thought. Then she sighed and started pacing again. “I wish I hadn’t given that damn ring to Angel,” she muttered.

He stared at her, not quite believing what he’d just heard. Ring? She couldn’t mean the Gem of Amara. Could she? It was the only thing that made sense, but she had to realize it would have had a good chance of neutralizing the effects of the chip.

“You’d trust me with that?”

She stopped and took a slow, deep breath as she looked at him, slowly nodding. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah, I’d trust you with it. What you did for us… what you _keep_ doing…. I’d trust you. I _do_ trust you. That’s why….”

She took another deep breath before bending down to pull a knife out of her boot. Then she stood and cut her arm, holding it out to him. “You’re still hurt. We need you healed up. Now. So… So go ahead. Drink me.”

He stared, mesmerized, as the blood welled up from the cut. A drop slid down and fell to the floor. Two. And then he was there, moving without conscious thought to stand beside her, her arm held gently in his hands. Just the smell alone made his head swim a bit, like he’d downed a bottle of good scotch.

“You sure about this?” he asked quietly, barely resisting the urge to just go for her blood. She nodded, but wouldn’t look at him. “Buffy?”

She looked up at that, and he saw something close to fear in her eyes. Closer to nerves, maybe. That and eagerness and a touch of shame. She wanted him to bite her, he realized, but she didn’t want to want it. He could get mad about it. Throw a fit and point out how much she needed him at his best, and how slayer blood had enough oomph to clear up the remnants of Glory’s torture. He could do all that, and kill whatever goodwill and trust she felt for him. It wasn’t love, but it was at least _something_.

“Whatever you need from me,” he said softly, “it’s yours. No strings attached. You know this. If you’d rather not give me your blood, it’s fine. I’ve managed with worse injuries than these.”

She took a deep breath, letting it out in a soft sigh. “I don’t think I’m sure about much of anything right now. Up is down and right is Tuesday.” She managed a small, wry smile. “But I _am_ sure that I need you, and I need you at your best. Leave me enough to fight, but other than that…. Take what _you_ need.”

Satisfied that she wasn’t likely to regret it, he leaned down to run his tongue along her arm, catching up the spilled blood before closing his mouth over the cut. Where the Dutchman had been midnight skies and the deepest depths of the ocean, Buffy was sunlight and wildflowers. She was fire and the wild energy of Slayer spice. Her blood tingled through him like liquid lightning, rushing through and washing away the lingering pain.

He lapped at the cut, introducing more of the anticoagulant and euphoretic in his saliva. She moaned, and he could smell her sudden arousal, could taste it on her skin and in her blood.

The Dutchman had offered out of the desire to seduce. To coax Spike to him with what he could give him. Buffy offered from a place of trust. She trusted him to have her back. She trusted him not to take too much. And she trusted him not to take it too far.

He took one last mouthful – less in all than she’d have given at a blood drive – and forced himself to pull away. Buffy blinked at him, looking a little dazed. “You look good,” she mumbled. Then her cheeks reddened. “I, I mean better. You look better. The bruises are all gone.”

He felt better, all the various aches and pains pretty much gone. His leg still felt a bit stiff, but he was fairly certain he could manage without limping now. All because of the young woman standing in front of him. He reached out to gently cup her cheek, and she let him, for just a moment, before pulling away.

“So, um….” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “You, you said twenty minutes?” He stared at her and raised a brow. She couldn’t be suggesting what his brain was stupidly jumping to, but wouldn’t hurt to twit her a little. Her cheeks flamed again. “For, um, for the transportation?”

“Right. Yeah. Should only take about twenty minutes to get it all sorted.” He headed back towards the underground, grabbing up the blanket he used when playing a spot of tempt Mr. Sun, just in case. Then he stopped and turned to look at Buffy. “We can do this, love. You and me? We’ve pulled off a lot together ever since that truce. Even managed to keep your watcher alive during that, and I didn’t give a rat’s arse about him at the time. But the little bit? Her, I like. She’s bit a like a fungus, isn’t she? Grows on you after a while and all.”

That earned him a smile, a small one, but it made it all the way to her eyes. “I could say the same about you. Come on.”

She brushed past him, leading the way to the underground. Spike followed her down. He’d follow her anywhere.

Even straight to his own doom.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from the episode The Gift.

1630 Revello Drive. It had been a while since Spike had been there last. Just the once since he’d been disinvited, when he’d wanted to leave flowers for Joyce. And now, here he was again, following Buffy across the lawn to help with preparations for the upcoming mission to rescue Dawn.

Everything had gone all pear-shaped. Of course it bloody well had. Sod’s law was a right nasty bastard, swooping in to muck things up whenever it could. It would have worked, too, Buffy’s plan to just get the bloody hell out of Sunnydale and keep on driving. Turned out Glory had a time limit. But that sodding group of knights hadn’t been content to let things lie. They’d been so set on keeping the Key from Glory that they’d ended up all but gift wrapping the girl for the hellgod. It was almost funny, really. The sort of thing Spike would have got a good laugh over if he hadn’t been caught up in it all.

He shook his head to clear it as he and Buffy reached the front door. She unlocked it and swept on through, leaving him to face something he’d been trying not to think on since he’d realized where they were going. He couldn’t follow her inside. He flashed back to the last time he’d tried, confused at first, then heartbroken when he’d realized the timing didn’t add up.

He’d had it coming after that daft stunt with the chains and all. He could blame it on Dru and the buzz from the dead woman he’d fed on, the combination of it all making him snap for a bit. It was true enough, but he’d always been one to own up to his mistakes. He’d buggered things up enough to earn the disinvite. He just wished it had happened because of that, and not because she’d found out he was in love with her.

His love had hurt her. It had made her afraid. It had destroyed her trust in him so badly that only the torture he’d endured had started to bring it back. His love had done that, and he hated himself for that.

“The weapons are in the chest by the TV,” Buffy said, breaking into his thoughts. “I’ll grab the stuff upstairs.”

He blinked. Did she expect him to…? “Uh, Buffy….” She turned towards him, a confused expression on her face as he lifted his hand to wave at her. A lot had happened in her life since the disinvite. It wasn’t out of the question that she’d forgot all about it. He could demand to be let in, to point out that there wasn’t much he could do from outside, but he wasn’t going to do that to her. “If you wanna just hand them over the threshold, I’ll—”

“Come in, Spike.”

No hesitation. No indication that she had any qualms about letting him back in. In fact, she sounded… welcoming. Warm. Like she actively _wanted_ him in her home. He took a slow step over the threshold, a smile crossing his face as he was able to walk inside.

“Hmm. Presto. No barrier.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and he realized exactly what had happened. She hadn’t forgot about the disinvite, or that he was a vampire like Xander had back at the abandoned petrol station. She’d invited him back into her life, into some little nook of her heart even if she didn’t love him. With all else going on, it just hadn’t occurred to her that she needed to verbally invite him back into the house as well. 

Spike broke eye contact and headed into the living room. Time was ticking, and they had to save the little bit. He wasn’t going to let her die. Not if there was anything he could do about it.

“Um, won’t bother with the small stuff. Couple of good axes should hold off Glory’s mates while you take on the lady herself.”

He opened up the chest and started taking things out, trying to ignore the tension between them. He felt like he was walking on a tightrope, like any wrong move would destroy the spiderwebs holding him together and send him plummeting. They were getting ready to go up against a god. Any or all of them could end up very dead. _Except for someone who’s immortal,_ the thought whispered through his mind. If they had the Dutchman on their side….

“We’re not all going to make it,” Buffy suddenly said, mirroring his thoughts.

“Yeah.” He selected a few of the weapons and walked back towards her. Maybe it would only be him dying tonight, if he could somehow keep everyone else safe during the fight. “Hey, always knew I’d go down fighting.” Better that way than wasting away as someone’s lunch for seven years.

“I’m counting on you… to protect her.”

“Till the end of the world,” he said quietly, meaning every word of it. “Even if that happens to be tonight.”

If it happened that night…. If they failed…. If it came to that, would having the Dutchman on their side have made a difference?

“I’ll be a minute,” Buffy said after a moment.

“Yeah.” As she turned to go up the stairs, thoughts and feelings crowded through him, and he had the sudden certainty that one or the other of them wasn’t going to make it through the night. _Let it be me. It should be me._ “I know you’ll never love me,” he blurted out, making her pause and look back at him.

She wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Neither one of them could change what they were. Sometimes it didn’t seem to matter to her. She’d expect him to behave like a human and hold him to a standard higher than the one she held her mates to. It was frustrating at times and hardly fair, but when she did that…. It made him feel….

“I know that I’m a monster. But you treat me like a man. And that’s….” His throat closed up, unable to force out anymore words as Buffy stood there and silently gazed at him.  No flippant remarks. No mocking. Just letting him speak and giving his words and feelings the right to exist. “Go get your stuff. I’ll be here.”

He watched as she walked up the stairs, then closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He was teetering on the edge of the abyss. If he pulled back, there was the chance, no matter how slim, that they would all make it. They had a plan. A right good one, too. _But it don’t change the fact that we’re facing a bloody god._

He put the weapons he’d gathered down and reached into his pocket for the slip of paper with the phone number for the Dutchman’s hotel room. He’d promised to protect Dawn to the end of the world, whether that be tonight or a million years in the future. If he did this, he’d only be keeping her safe for this one event.

Unless….

There was a moment of utter clarity, and Spike knew exactly what he had to do.

 

**...**

 

Somehow, they’d made it. Buffy honestly hadn’t expected it. She’d thought they’d lose someone. She’d thought…. Well, she’d thought maybe it was finally her time. She’d survived longer than most slayers. That was why she’d asked for Spike’s promise. If something had happened to her, he was the best one to protect her sister. He’d let himself get tortured — without any hope of rescue — for Dawn. Yeah, a lot of that had been for Buffy herself, but she knew he’d done it for Dawn, too.

But it hadn’t come to that. They’d all survived, in part because of Spike’s strange immortal friend with the retractable tentacles. The one he hadn’t bothered to tell any of them about for some reason. Maybe he hadn’t been sure the man would help or something. Maybe—

“Never fear, the Xan-man is here to save the day!” Xander announced, cutting into her thoughts as he burst in through the door of the Magic Box, a stack of pizza boxes in his arms.

Buffy smiled at his antics, the irritation that had been building suddenly just gone. She didn’t know why Spike had kept things quiet about his friend until the last minute, but he had been there through it all, at her back at times when even her friends had had their doubts. That was why they were having the victory celebration now, over twelve hours after the fact. Spike was able to get into the Magic Box just fine during the day, but they’d waited until night so he’d be safer and more comfortable. Also, because it had been just before sunrise when they’d finally rescued Dawn, and they’d all been super exhausted.

She glanced around the store, watching everyone as Giles and Xander worked together to put the pizzas down on the research table. There was Dawn, safe and happy as she opened up one of the boxes and pulled out a slice. Willow and Tara were sitting near each other, laughing as the redhead tried to feed the other woman. She was back to normal now, her brain all unsucked. Her hand was still broken, though, and Willow didn’t seem to want to let go of the other one. It was sweet.

So were Xander and Anya. The ex-vengeance demon slipped an arm around him before grabbing a slice of pizza for herself. Buffy was still a little weirded out by Anya’s former job, but she had to admit that the two of them made a good couple. Yeah, she’d been a demon, but she really did love him. She was acclimating to being a human again. And to being one of the good guys. Just like….

Buffy’s attention wandered from her friends, drawn to Spike. He always seemed to be hanging around, trying to be part of things. Now that he was, though, he was off by himself, arms wrapped around his middle as he stared down at the floor. They hadn’t exactly been all welcoming towards him, especially after she’d found out he thought he… after she found out he had… _feelings_ for her. Did he think it still applied and he was just too tired to push where he didn’t feel wanted? Or maybe….

 _I know you’ll never love me._ How hard had it been to admit that? Especially to himself. She had the feeling that he’d done it at some point before the creepy Buffybot. That meant that everything he’d done for them… for _her_ … had been with that thought hovering over him. The idea that she’d never love him.

She lightly bit her bottom lip, remembering how he’d looked in her house. The wonder and gratitude when she’s invited him back in. The sincerity and conviction as he’d promised to protect Dawn. The raw vulnerability as he’d gazed up at her and tried to tell her how he felt.

_I know you’ll never love me._

_I know that I’m a monster. But you treat me like a man._

She knew what he was. She never forgot that he was a vampire. But most of the time… most of the time, she didn’t really treat him like one. Well, she kind of did, with the occasional taunting and the nose punching and everything, but after the parent-teacher night, she’d never really thought of him the same way as most vampires. He had depth. Personality. Witty banter. Good personal grooming habits. He’d been just as much a person in her mind as a vampire.

He shifted, the shop’s lights reflecting off of something around his neck that drew Buffy’s notice. She’d been too focused on Dawn last night to really pay attention, but she vaguely remembered the immortal tentacle dude giving Spike a necklace before the fight. It was beautiful, a web of silver with a scattering of blue gemstones. Kind of a weird thing to put on before a battle, though, especially for a guy. Maybe it had magical properties or something?

Buffy pushed that thought away and walked towards him, offering a small smile. “Hey. Not feeling much like partying?”

He stared into her eyes, the look in his driving away her smile. He looked… lost. “Need to talk to you about something,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough. He reached up towards the necklace, but stopped before he touched it, shuddering slightly. Then he jerked his head towards the basement. “Down there. Alone.”

She frowned and followed him down into the basement, feeling uneasy. What the hell was going on? Had he gotten hurt or something during the fight? They all had some bumps and bruises, but he’d seemed okay. A little distant, though, now that she thought about it.

“I’m not running out on you,” Spike suddenly said. “Need you to know that.”

“What?” She blinked, confused. The uneasy feeling was getting worse.

“I know about Angel buggering off.” He gave a snort of disgust. “All that nonsense about it being for your own good. Not the sort of thing he gets to decide, now is it?” A pained expression crossed his face, and he swayed a little. Then he took a deep breath before starting to fidget and pace. “Know about your dad, too. Right bastard, blowing off his responsibilities. Was here for the mess with Cardboard. I’m not like any of them. I need you to know that. Need you to know that it’s not another man just walking out on you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” She grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt and pulled him close. He was _leaving_? Spike couldn’t be leaving. She needed… _Dawn_ needed him. “You can’t just, just go off somewhere! What about your promise? Until the end of the world. The world hasn’t ended.”

“This is all about my promise,” he said, hesitantly bringing up his hand to cover the one she had fisted in his shirt. The other lightly touched the necklace he was wearing. “The Dutchman can only come on land for two weeks every seven years, so there’s not a lot he can do directly after this, but he’s built up a lot of contacts. Whatever you and the little bit need, it’ll be yours. Money, tutors for Dawn to make up on the lost schooling, demons of a neutral bent to help out when you’re short on extra hands. Until the day you’ve both… both gone on, the Dutchman’s promised to do all he can to help the two of you and keep her safe.”

“What did you do?” She felt numb. Numb and a little sick. Spike pulled away from her, giving another pained look and twitching like there were ants crawling all over his skin. She advanced towards him, backing him up against one of the shelves. A surge of anger rose up, smashing its way through the numbness. “What. Did. You. _Do_?”

He had to have given the Dutchman something in return. Something he knew she wouldn’t like, so he was running away. Or… or maybe they’d be in danger if he stayed, after whatever it was he’d given or promised to the Dutchman. Her gaze locked on the necklace. It had something to do with things. Maybe it sucked out life force or something for the Dutchman, and Spike didn’t want them getting hurt by it.

She grabbed the chain and tugged, intending to rip it off of him. Instead, she pulled him forward, practically into her arms. His hands came up to cup her cheeks, and he rested his forehead against hers. She wanted to push him away. She wanted to pull him close. She did neither, just stood there, frozen in confusion. She could feel him trembling. Could hear the rapid little pants for breath that he didn’t need. It hit her, then. Whatever was going on, Spike was afraid. And in pain.

“What did you do?” She whispered it this time, almost hoping he wouldn’t answer.

“Every seven years, the Dutchman comes to shore for a willing bride.” He pulled away from her and touched the necklace. “That’s what this means. I put the bloody thing on of my own free will, and now I’m his bride.”

The numbness came back. Oh god. Oh god, did that mean…? Had he…? “You sold yourself as, as some kind of sex slave?” She shook her head in denial even as she said the words, starting to pace. “No, that’s _not_ going to happen. That’s creepy and gross. And, and just… no.”

“Buffy—”

“No!” She made a cutting gesture with her hand. Images flashed through her mind. Spike naked and unable to get away as that man touched him. Maybe even used his tentacles to…. “No. We are so not doing this. I wouldn’t let something like that happen to anyone, especially not a friend.” She was only vaguely aware of the word she’d used, too upset to really think about it. “This is _wrong_. We’ll, we’ll find some other way to—”

Spike’s hands were suddenly on her shoulders, and his mouth covered hers, stopping the flow of words. His lips and tongue were cool and still familiar from the “my will be done” spell Willow had performed the year before. It was deep and passionate, and it somehow reminded her of when he’d taken her blood. The way she’d felt then…. But the kiss also held desperation and sadness. Those were the main emotions she saw in his eyes when he broke the kiss to gaze at her. Desperation, sadness, and… love.

“There’s nothing to be done, Buffy,” he said quietly. “I thank you for it. And for calling me friend. That… that means more than you can know.”

“You’ll… you’ll be back after the seven years?” Her voice sounded small. Like a kid not wanting to let go. It was just seven years. Seven years wasn’t really that long, right? She could handle seven years. Easy.

But Spike was shaking his head. “No telling what’s going to happen to me, being a vampire and all, but it’s, uh… it’s likely I won’t survive. Not as more than a husk, anyway. What the Dutchman takes from his brides…. Like as not, I’ll react the way the human ones do.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, his hands tightening on her shoulders as he shuddered. “Sorry, love, don’t have a lot of time. Over twelve hours away from the Dutchman, and things start to get a mite uncomfortable. Just... didn't want you thinking I was like those other wankers, walking out on you. You don't deserve that.”

And then, before she could react, he turned and strode towards the tunnel connecting the basement to Sunnydale’s underground travel route.


	6. Chapter 6

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone absorbed what Buffy had just told them. She watched their expressions change as they took it all in. Willow, worried. Tara, horrified. Giles looked sort of vaguely uncomfortable, like he had bad gas or something and was too polite to just let it go. Anya was nibbling at her lower lip thoughtfully while Xander’s expression was unreadable. Not too hard to figure out what he was probably thinking, though. He’d never much liked Spike. And then there was Dawn.

“No,” she whispered, her eyes wide with panic. Spike had been… _was_ her friend. And he’d been the one to get her down from that tower. “No. We have to do something.” She looked wildly around at everyone, her voice getting shrill. “We have to save him. We can’t just–”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Buffy said, cutting off the flow of words. “It’s okay, Dawnie. We’re going to get him back.”

She had no idea how, but they were going to do it. Her thoughts and feelings about Spike were all weird and jumbled. His words at her house kept running through her mind. And earlier than that, when she’d given him her blood…. The way it had made her feel…. The gentlemanly way he’d behaved during it all…. She didn’t know how she felt about it all, but there was one thing she _did_ know. She wasn’t ready for him to be gone.

Xander sighed, then lifted up his hands when she whirled to glare at him. “Whoa, down, Buffster. I just…. Is this going to be one of those break out the books sort of things? Or more of a jump in without looking and hope for the best situation? Because, you know, I might need to do a soda run if it’s the first.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped as she stared at him, not quite believing what she’d just heard.

He gave a slight smile and an uncomfortable shrug. “Yeah, okay, so he’s a bloodsucking pain in the ass, but he’s _our_ bloodsucking pain in the ass. No way am I just going to turn my back when some freaky demon is planning to make him the chick from a tentacle hentai.”

“Tentacle hentai? What’s…?” Buffy frowned slightly in confusion, then shook her head. “I don’t think I want to know.” She took a deep breath and glanced around. “We need to act soon, but we need some kind of game plan. We can’t just go in and take him back. We need ideas. Anybody?”

There was silence for a moment, then Anya raised her hand. “Actually, I might be able to get us some information. The legends about the Dutchman say he was cursed by the Christian god, but that’s not what happened. It was a wizard who did it. He got recruited by D’Hoffryn not long after.”

“Good. Okay, that’s good.” Buffy said, starting to pace. Then she frowned again. “But how does that help us?”

There had to be some way it would. Anya had proved to have a good head on her shoulders. She’d come up with most of the ideas for fighting against Glory. The Dutchman had been a huge help, but considering how many minions the hellgod had had, he wouldn’t have been enough on his own. The Dagon Sphere, the troll hammer, and the bot had been important, too.

“Oh, I know!” Willow said excitedly. “If we can get in contact with him, we can maybe talk him into lifting the curse. Or at least telling us the escape clause.”

“Exactly,” Anya said, beaming. “The curse is why the Dutchman is both immortal and needs a bride. Break the curse, and there’s a good chance Spike won’t be his bride anymore.”

“Escape clause? What…?” Buffy looked back and forth between the two women, utterly lost.

All the talk of curses and escape clauses was making her think about Angel and the horror show her life had become after his curse had been broken. Or escaped, or whatever. She’d always thought it was really stupid for there to be an out for that curse.

“C-curses need an escape clause,” Tara spoke up. “If they don’t, they, uh, tend to backfire on the caster.”

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. Good. So, we get in touch with this wizard guy.” She glanced at Anya. “You can do that?”

“No.” Anya shook her head. “But I still have friends in Arashmaharr. I can get in touch with one of them and get the info.” She looked over at Giles, who now just looked sort of resigned. “I’ll need someplace quiet and to use some of the stock as components to get in touch with someone.”

He took off his glasses with a sigh and started cleaning them. “For good or ill, it seems that Spike is one of us, now.” He glanced at Xander with a rueful smile before turning his attention back to Anya. “You can use Buffy’s training room and whatever supplies you need.”

Buffy closed her eyes for a moment and just breathed as Anya started gathering the things she’d need. Everyone was pulling together, willing to help. They could do this. They’d saved the entire world more than a few times by this point. Saving a single vampire should be a piece of cake. Right?

 

**...**

 

It was always a strange thing, the start of a new cycle. If he didn’t let himself dwell on the eventual outcome of it all, there was a thrill to the seduction. And the Dutchman always made a point to try to seduce, even in a situation like this one, where it was obvious that loyalty to someone else would be how he got his bride. No matter how his bride came to him, it meant he had someone new to love and lavish attention on. He wanted them to feel cherished before they were used up.

He gazed across the deck of his ship to where his new bride was leaning over the railing, looking out to sea. The two weeks wasn’t quite over yet, but he’d found it was best to take his bride away as soon as possible. The work on the ship – mostly to redesign the Bride’s Quarters for a vampire – had been finished yesterday. Once a few of the more human-looking crew members returned with the last of the supplies they’d need, they’d be off. His bride didn’t seem too fond of the idea. Sometimes they were. This particular one….

With a soft sigh, the Dutchman crossed the deck towards his bride. There was a spring to his step that had both nothing and everything to do with the other man. He was already feeding from him. There would be no ill effects to Spike until halfway through the cycle, when his decline would begin. The Dutchman pushed that thought aside, able to bury it with centuries of practice. He would enjoy the now, what he always thought of as the honeymoon period. And when that had passed…. Well, he’d do as he’d always done and take care of his bride. His love. His darling one.

“It’s not such a bad life,” he said as he leaned on the rail beside Spike. He put his hand – tanned and rough from all his days spent out in the elements on the deck of the ship – over the pale one of his bride. Spike glanced at it, but didn’t try to pull away. “We have electricity. Even satellite TV and radio. Your quarters are set up with both, along with a selection of books. And while I cannot go ashore or even stay in one location for too long, there’s no reason you can’t visit various places for a few hours to get other things.”

Spike raised a brow as he looked at him. “I’ve a room of my own, then?”

“Of course. Though you’re free to share mine anytime.” One of the tentacles in his back slipped free to curve around the other man’s waist. “While I love all of my brides, not all are interested in being lovers. And some who start out open to it change their minds.” He hoped Spike wouldn’t be one of the ones who changed their minds. He was a truly beautiful man and full of passion. “Come, I can show you the room, if you’d like.”

Spike looked up at the stars, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out. “Yeah, sure. Might as well.”

The Dutchman led him into the interior of the ship. As always at the start of a new cycle, a sad weariness tried to settle over him. He would love, and he would lose. Such was always the way and would be for an eternity. He forced it back. It was the only way to stay relatively sane. He would love while his darling one was here. He would grieve when he was not. And then…. Then he would move on, as the cycle demanded.

 

**...**

 

Buffy was pacing again when Anya came out of the training room. Being still had never been one of her strong suits, especially when her brain kept insisting on thinky-thoughts that she didn’t actually want to think about. Like how she felt about Spike.

 _I’ll have time to figure that out later, after we save him._ She turned to face Anya.

“What did you find out?” she demanded. “What do we need to do to save Spike?”

“Is it even a possibility?” Giles asked, ignoring her glare at the question.

It was going to be possible. She wouldn’t accept anything else, just like she’d refused to accept the idea that Dawn would have to die to save the world. Both Dawn and the world were fine. Spike would be, too.

“Um, yes,” Anya said, licking her lips nervously. “Probably.”

Probably? Probably didn’t sound good. Buffy didn’t like “probably.” It usually meant there was a big obstacle in the way that someone was trying to make seem smaller. Though Anya did tend to be blunt. She wouldn’t sugarcoat things. Probably.

“Just tell me what we need to do.”

Anya nodded and started to speak. “Okay, so, here’s the deal. The Dutchman’s brides are all really loyal people who have had that loyalty treated like it was worthless.”

Buffy winced at that. She’d started to realize things after the torture, but before that…. She hadn’t wanted to admit to herself that Spike could be loyal. That he could… love. Even though she used to know. She’d used both of those things against Spike once, threatening Drusilla to make him back off. But then she’d just sort of… forgotten. _No,_ she reluctantly acknowledged, _I didn’t forget. I just didn’t want to remember. It was easier to forgive Angel that way._

She took a deep breath and forced her thoughts to stay on the here and now. “What does that mean for us, exactly?” she asked. “Does it have anything to do with the escape clause?”

“Yes. The Dutchman has to witness one of those people performing an act of loyalty towards his current bride.”

An act of loyalty…. What would count as an act of loyalty? The thought of grabbing Spike and kissing him popped into her head, but she quickly banished it. That was an act of lust, not loyalty. And she so totally wasn’t in lust with Spike. Even if him feeding from her had made her all tingly. Even if Xander had kind of been right when he’d talked about him being all compact and muscle-y. Even if him having her back no matter what had become… comforting.

“Okay, so what counts as an act of loyalty?” she asked. “Would just the rescue attempt itself count?”

“Wouldn’t someone have tried that already?” Willow asked, sounding as dubious as Buffy felt.

“Not necessarily,” Giles commented. “After all, it must be done by someone who… ah, who feels that the bride’s loyalty is worthless. In most cases,” he shot Buffy an apologetic look, “such a person would hardly care if the bride was taken.”

Ouch. That kind of hurt. Except… thinking back on it, she was pretty sure she always would have been pissed if someone had just come along and taken Spike away. She’d always felt weirdly possessive of him. He’d been _her_ nemesis. Then her chipped up pain-in-the-butt vampire who the commandos didn’t get to mess with. A sort of “I can do whatever, but heaven help the neighbor kids if they try” mentality. The Dutchman was so one of the neighbor kids. He didn’t get to mess with her vampire.

She took a deep breath and ordered her thoughts, a vague and incomplete plan coming to mind. “Wills, you remember when we were trapped in that frat house with the fear demon thingy?”

The redhead nodded with a faint grimace. “Yeah, so not something I’m likely to forgot. I don’t think trying to summon him is going to help much though. He was pretty easy to send back with a squish.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. That spell you tried to do that got away from you. With the glowy lights you said attacked you? It was supposed to find people. Did you ever perfect it?”

Willow brightened. “Oh! Yeah, I can do that one easy, now, especially with Tara’s help.” She smiled and gazed at her girlfriend. “You want us to use it to find Spike?”

“Yeah. We’ll find where he is, and if coming to rescue him doesn’t work….”

“Then we’ll just figure something else out,” Dawn said, a determined look in her eyes.

Buffy nodded slowly as she looked at her sister. Dawn wouldn’t be able to do anything to break the curse. Unlike Buffy herself, she’d always appreciated and believed in Spike. She’d never thought his loyalty was worthless. And after this, Buffy never would either.


	7. Chapter 7

Spike lay sprawled across the bed, hands laced under his head as he stared up at the… well, wasn’t really a ceiling as such, now was it? The bed was a sort of cubby in the wall with a curtain across it and cabinets both under and above. Cozy, really. A bit like a little cave with a good quality mattress. Lots better than his setup back at the crypt, though he’d been thinking of doing something with the underground area. No chance of that now.

He forced his thoughts away from the crypt to focus on where he was at the moment. The new digs were nice enough. Lots of built-in storage, including a bookcase designed to keep things from falling out during rough seas. The furniture – a comfy chair and a desk with a stool that could be tied to one of the legs – was bolted to the ground for the same reason. The same had been done with the mini fridge, stereo, and the telly.

While most of the wall space was taken up with the storage areas, there were a couple of windows. They’d been shuttered, of course. A double set with all sorts of locks to make sure he wouldn’t end up fried during the day. No doubt the curtain across the opening to the bed cubby was meant to serve the same purpose. All in all, was a right comfortable little place to call his own. Wouldn’t be bad at all if not for the whole most likely dead in seven years thing. He was even free of the pig blood. The Dutchman could afford to keep him stocked in human and even donate quite a bit himself.

Spike sighed and closed his eyes, thoughts drifting to Buffy and that night in her house. As amazing as being given her blood had been, that had been even more so. She’d trusted him. After all he’d done, she’d trusted him back into her life. Into her home.

He’d never see her again. He knew that. At least she was bloody well still alive. What Glory had done to the bot…. It could have all too easily been the real Buffy instead. But they’d all made it through. The entire lot of them. Even him. No guarantee that would have been the case without the Dutchman. Could be that he’d bought himself seven years instead of dooming himself. No way of knowing, really.

 _And not much point in dwelling on it,_ he thought, vaguely annoyed. He’d never really been one for second guessing himself. He’d done what he’d done, and now he had to live with it. And die with it.

Bugger this. He’d had enough of bloody self-pity. He opened his eyes and rolled off the bed to grab a beer and jar of blood from the mini fridge. Might as well take the telly for a bit of a test drive, yeah? He’d just settled into the comfy chair when there was a commotion from out on the deck. _What the bloody…?_

He got to his feet, then froze. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but he distinctly heard a familiar voice. No, couldn’t be her. He had to be imagining things. The Dutchman had a few women in his crew. One of them just sounded like her, was all. He could handle that. He….

The noise from whatever was going on got louder, and he was finally able to make out a few words. She was here. She knew there was no point to it. That he couldn’t be rescued. But she’d come anyway. She’d come for him.

“Buffy,” he whispered hoarsely.

Then he bolted out the door.

 

**...**

 

Buffy was alone as she strode down the dock towards the ship indicated by Willow’s glowy light spell. The others had come with her, but she’d left them behind near one of the warehouses. Maybe it had been stupid, but it felt like this was something she needed to do alone.

There were a few people between her and the ship, maybe members of the crew, maybe not. She didn’t really care. She just shoved them over the side of the dock and into the water as she made her way to the gangplank. Then she was across it and on the ship.

For a moment, the crew on deck just stared at her while she stared back. She hadn’t actually planned anything. Not really. Just “get on ship, rescue Spike.” Somehow. Most of the crew looked like they were human, or maybe demons who could pass. Either way, they hadn’t really done anything wrong. It wasn’t like they’d kidnapped Spike or anything. The idiot vampire – _her_ idiot vampire – had gone and given himself to their captain. That wasn’t the crew’s fault.

“Um, miss,” one of them said, slowly taking a couple of steps towards her. He was a big, burly man, and Buffy tensed, ready to fight if it came down to it. Was he going to try to wrestle her down or throw her overboard? She was ready for either. “This is a private vessel. You need to leave, or we’ll call the authorities.”

That… wasn’t quite what she’d been expecting. It threw her a little off-balance, but she could deal. “Yeah, you just go right ahead,” she said, covering the distance between her and the apparent spokesman of the group. She put her hands on her hips and looked up at him. “Never mind the fact that your boss’s new ‘bride’ probably has a rap sheet.”

She was actually pretty sure that he didn’t, considering it was Sunnydale and he was a vampire, but the man in front of her didn’t have any way to check. His eyes narrowed, and his shoulders tensed, telegraphing it as he started to throw a punch. He was fast. Faster than a human should have been, and Buffy barely dodged in time.

Then it was on, the entire crew coming at her as she ducked, dodged, and weaved her way across the deck, dishing out blows as well as taking them. It was almost like a dance. Or ice skating. She moved, muscles working in perfect harmony as they bunched and stretched, answering to her every shifting need. She was really starting to get into it, when a voice suddenly called out for everyone to stop.

“That is quite enough! Everyone to your stations, please. I’ll handle this.”

And just like that, they all dispersed, leaving Buffy to face the Dutchman.

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. It was now or never. Time to see if her very vague plan would work. “I’m here to rescue Spike.”

Nothing happened. No flash of lightning or mystical noise or anything. Maybe curses breaking just weren’t all that flashy? She squinted at the man. He didn’t look any different. No tentacles, but they hadn’t been obvious before, either. Not until he’d whipped them out and started flinging Glory’s minions all over the place.

“He isn’t in need of rescue,” the Dutchman said with a sad smile. “Spike is here of his own free will. He made a choice with full knowledge of what he was doing. Your actions are not honoring that choice.”

Not honoring that choice…. Was it… was it somehow _dis_ loyal to try to rescue Spike in this situation? That couldn’t be true. That was just stupid. Wasn’t it? Buffy backed up a step, uncertain. If rescuing him wasn’t enough to actually let her rescue him, what the hell was she supposed to do?

Before she could figure anything out, Spike was suddenly just _there_ , striding towards her, his coat swishing back with his movements. He didn’t look particularly happy to see her. “What in the sodding hell do you think you’re doing here?”

She took another step back, even more uncertain. Did… did he _want_ to be with the Dutchman? Had he finally just moved on? _No,_ she thought with sudden conviction, remembering how he’d been earlier in the evening. Afraid and in pain and desperate to make sure she knew he wasn’t just walking out on her.

“I think I’m trying to save your sorry butt,” she snapped at him. “In the, uh, sodding hell…. Okay, so, that, like, made _no_ sense whatsoever, but I’m sticking to it.”

His lips twitched into a faint smile as his expression softened. “Going to miss that,” he said quietly, reaching up to gently cup her cheek. “The patented Buffy Summers sense of humor.”

“You don’t have to. Just let me get you out of here.”

He dropped his hand, sighing as he shook his head. “Not gonna happen, love. You saw what being away too long did to me, and that was just the beginning part of it. Just go, okay? Go on and live your life.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. If you stay, then I stay.”

“Are you out of your bleeding mind?” he asked incredulously.

Part of her kind of agreed with him. What the hell was she thinking? She couldn’t just stay on this ship for however long, trying to figure out a way to break the curse. She had responsibilities, including taking care of her little sister. Another part, though…. It just seemed so wrong, abandoning him after all he’d done.

“Maybe,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know. I just know I can’t leave you behind.”

“You know,” he said through gritted teeth, “picking you up isn’t exactly an attack. Chip won’t care a lick if I lift you up and let you go over the side.”

Her eyes narrowed. He was such a pain in the ass. Why did she want to save him, again? _Because he’s_ your _pain in the ass,_ she reminded herself. Right. Okay.

“I’m staying on this damn ship, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Get used to it.”

He took a step closer to her, and Buffy acted on instinct. She cocked back her fist, then slammed it right into the middle of his face.

“Bloody bitch!” he snarled, staggering back with his hand over his nose. “I oughtta –”

The necklace chain snapped, sending it crashing to the deck. They both stared it in stunned silence. Within a moment, it had crumbled into silvery dust. Buffy looked back up at Spike, then to the sky.

“Seriously? _That’s_ what did it? That is totally messed up.”

“What the…?”

Before Spike could finish his question, a sound drew both their attention, a soft gasp from the Dutchman. He was rapidly aging before their eyes, shriveling up into an old man. Buffy watched him warily, expecting some kind of enraged revenge attack. But… he just gave them that sad smile.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

And then he crumbled into dust.


	8. Epilogue

It wasn’t perfect. Not yet, anyway. Still and all, was a fairly good start. All the basics were there. A nightstand with a lamp. A dresser. And, of course, a bed. A nice comfortable one, easily big enough for two.

 _Or for one solitary vampire with a tendency to sprawl like a starfish when stuck sleeping alone,_ Spike thought with a sigh. Sleeping alone was like to be his default state for the next long while. No bot. No Dutchman. No…. He could always take up with some brainless bit of fluff like Harmony, but he was tired of it. Of not really being wanted for himself.

There was a sudden sound from the main part of the crypt. He tensed, morose thoughts taking a backseat in the face of possible danger, then relaxed when he heard Buffy call his name.

“Down here, love,” he hollered up.

A moment later, she was down there with him, looking around in surprise. “Wow. This is… new. Also, fast.” He could almost see her calculating it in her mind, trying to figure out when he would have time to start fixing the area up.

He shrugged and gave it all another once over. “Got a few poker buddies of mine to help out. Still needs some work.” He held his hand out in a sweeping gesture, feeling oddly nervous. “But, uh, home is… _homier_ now.”

“It’s nice,” she said quietly, looking around again. “It seems… cozy.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what I’m going for.” He sat down on an outcropping of rock, patting the area next to him in invitation. Surprisingly, she took him up on it. “I’m thinking of adding a few nice rugs. Maybe a reading nook. Definitely need a record player.”

They lapsed into awkward silence. It had been a couple of days since she’d broken the curse on the Dutchman. Dawn had visited him once in that time, but this was the first he’d seen of Buffy. He wondered why she was there, but didn’t want to risk driving her away by asking. Thinking of Dawn did open up another line of conversation, though.

“How’s the little bit doing?” he asked. “She holding up okay after the kidnapping and all?”

“Um. Yeah. Yeah, she’s going to be okay. She’s been through a lot, but it turns out there’s a therapist she can see. A demon, but one of the non-evil ones. Giles vouches for him.”

So, Dawn was going to be seeing a shrink, then. Probably for the best. She was too young for drowning her various traumas in booze the way he did.

Another bout of silence, this time broken by Buffy. “How about you? How are you doing? Did… Did the Dutchman….” She trailed off and stared down at her feet, obviously uncomfortable. “You were his bride, and Xander was talking about tentacles and something about hens with ties. I didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but it… uh, it didn’t sound good.”

It took him a moment to figure out what she was trying to ask, and when he did, he found it both odd and touching. Dru had never really cared overmuch about such things, other than to be pleased that he and Angelus were “bonding.” Though she would get upset if the wanker roughed him up too much, pouting about someone else breaking her toy.

“No worries there, slayer. The Dutchman was a gentleman. Everything between us was consensual.”

There was a blank look as she processed his wording. Then her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. “Wait, you and him? You guys…?” She made vague hand gestures.

Spike smirked and shook his head, not in denial, but at how bloody adorable she was. “Hey now, a man has needs, you know, and you and your mates took away my robot.” Her eyes widened a little more, and he was unable to resist the urge to tease her a bit. “All those tentacles you saw? He had one more of ‘em. Specialized for all sorts of…” He paused to slowly lick his lips, “interesting things.”

“Ew! Stop!” She put her hands over her ears, nose wrinkling as she stuck her tongue out. “I _so_ don’t want to know about it.”

He laughed at her expression, to which she rolled her eyes before flashing him a small smile. Then she took a deep breath and blew it up into her hair.

“I’m glad he didn’t hurt you,” she said quietly. Then she grimaced. “You know, beyond the necklace causing you pain if you were away from for too long. That part wasn’t really his fault. It was just the way the curse worked.” She paused for a moment, looking down and then back at him. “Anyway, I’m glad he didn’t hurt you. For the obvious reasons. And, uh, because I really can’t turn down the help he offered. Not if I want to keep Dawn.”

Help? What help? Did she mean…? The Dutchman was gone. He’d thought that made his promise null and void, but apparently not.

Buffy nodded at his expression. “Yeah. The Dutchman’s promise is still in play. It’s until Dawn and I are both dead. It, uh, apparently doesn’t matter if he is. His lawyers got in touch with me yesterday. That’s why I didn’t come by sooner. There was all this paperwork and everything, including setting Dawn up with her therapist. That was their idea, actually.”

“Huh. Well, glad that worked out.”

“Yeah, me too.” She stood up and took a few steps, keeping her back to him. “You might have been wrong,” she blurted out.

“Possibly,” he readily agreed, wondering just what it was he might have been wrong about. “I’ve been wrong about lots of things in my life. It, uh, keeps things interesting.” He tilted his head to the side as he studied her. He couldn’t see her face, but she looked tense. And she smelt nervous. “What exactly is it I’m supposed to be wrong about?”

“I said you _might_ be wrong.” She fidgeted a little. “Back at the house? What you said.”

“I said a lot of things,” he said quietly. She couldn’t mean…. She couldn’t, but god, he wanted her to.

“You said that you knew I’d never….” She turned around suddenly, a bright, fake smile plastered across her face. “The sun’ll be going down soon. We… we should go shopping.”

Spike stared at her, not sure he could believe what he’d just heard. If he had been wrong about that… _might_ have been wrong, that meant…. “Are you serious about this?” The words were a bare whisper, so quiet that he almost hoped she wouldn’t hear.

Her smile got wider. “Of course. I’m _always_ serious when it comes to shopping.”

“Buffy….”

The smile fell, and she looked down at the ground again. Then she took a deep breath and looked directly at him. “I don’t know. I don’t know a lot of things. But what you’ve been doing for us…. It all means a lot. It….” Another glance down and another deep breath. “If the chip suddenly stopped working, could you promise me that you wouldn’t kill anyone?”

“I won’t kill anyone while feeding off them. If someone comes at me with a stake or somesuch, though? Can’t really make any promises other than that I’ll do my best. A lot can happen in a combat situation. You know that.”

She nodded jerkily. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair.” She started to pace. Like him, she wasn’t really one for being still. “You’re a vampire. Nothing is going to change that. But if you aren’t hurting or killing people…. Then maybe I could… I could….”

“You’d trust the word of a vampire about keeping on the straight and narrow?”

She stopped and looked right at him. “No,” she said, voice full of conviction. “I wouldn’t trust the word of a vampire…. I just trust _you_. I know you. And I know how loyal you are.”

Spike swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. Did she even know what she was saying? What it meant to him? The look in her eyes said that she did. And that she was nervous about it.

She offered a wobbly smile. “So, how about that shopping? I, uh, have plenty of money now, according to the lawyers. Not, like, enough to buy gold-plated toilets and fifty cars or anything, but me and Dawn aren’t going to have to worry about finances for a long time.”

He nodded slowly and stood up. “Shopping sounds good.” He let a slow, lazy smirk spread across his face. “And since you’re the one with all the dosh, you can take me out to dinner after, with a stop at Willy’s for a pint of human.”

“I can, huh?” The corners of her mouth twitched into a slight smile. “We’ll see.”

They headed out into the night together, a spring in Spike’s step as he followed her. It was all still up in the air, how things would go between him and the slayer, but a maybe was always better than a no. Maybe meant there was hope. It meant that – maybe – his loyalty would be rewarded.


End file.
